


Ward

by Perching_Owl



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Alexander Seawoll knows magic, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, M/M, No beta we die like David Mellenby, i don't know where this came from, just not Newtonian magic, magic is known, there are different magical disciplines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:35:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24392158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perching_Owl/pseuds/Perching_Owl
Summary: The shields of the Folly have always felt rather shoddy to Alex. Finally, he is allowed to do something about them.
Relationships: Thomas Nightingale/Alexander Seawoll
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Ward

**Author's Note:**

> If I'm entirely honest, I don't know how this came to be. I needed a quick break from my much longer Seawoll is a shapeshifter AU I'm writing and so I settled for a different AU. Maybe a quick note on this universe (though it won't have any bearing on this plot) - I imagine magic to be something widely known, maybe even people being able to take college courses, and so it's just something that someone would get into, maybe as a hobby, maybe studying it intensely, with different disciplines. 
> 
> So, please enjoy!

Sunlight is streaming into the room, strong and warm, and Alex can't help but groan as it starts to hit his face, needing him to blink against the onslaught of light. A soft chuckle wakes him up further, as next to him Thomas sits, a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in his lap. Alex groans, opting to bury himself in the covers again. Yet the smell of coffee is waking him up, strong and just right, and also closer than it should be. Frown on his face, he lifts his head from the pillows. In front of him, Thomas is holding a second mug, amusement on his face. He waits until Alex has sat up and is leaning against before handing over the cup.

'I love you,' Alex says as he inhales deeply, eyes closed, the coffee strong and still hot to the touch. For a moment he wonders if Thomas has heated the mug, but he cannot feel the lingering traces of magic in the air.

'I hope you, you were talking to me instead of the coffee,' Thomas quips. 'Otherwise telling you I love too might be awkward.'

Alex snorts, a grin on his face, 'I love you even more when you bring me coffee.'

A hand runs over his thigh, warm and soothing, and Alex smiles, then blinks, 'What time is it?'

'Just after ten.'

'Oh, we need to get going,' Alex brushes the hand off, which has started to sneak up further, and gulps down the coffee, relishing the slight burn.

'Noon is in two hours,' Thomas points out, puzzlement in his voice.

'All the more reason.'

'I know, but two hours preparations seems excessive.'

Alex gives him a long-suffering look as he swings his legs out of the bed, 'That because Newtonian magic is quick and dirty. What I intend to do, will last much longer. Besides, I need a good breakfast and a shower.'

With a quick peck on Thomas' cheek, he stands, gathering his clothes, and then vanishes into the bathroom. The more he wakes, the more he begins to focus on what is to come, and he can't help the anticipation building. After all, it's not every day, he gets to build a proper ward for a building such as the Folly, and his mind goes back to the carefully drawn schematics he has laid out, each one more and more refined until he had been sure the shoddy groundwork the Isaacs have laid down won't interfere with what he is building.

Breakfast is hence more quiet than usual with him glancing at his notes and drawings, food and company almost an afterthought, even as he feels Thomas' amused and interested gaze on him. His cup of coffee remains full and after breakfast he leans back, feeling full and satisfied. Both are needed for what he is about to do, as well as Thomas' curiosity, which remains on him.

Though Thomas had been sceptical, preparation takes indeed almost an hour. He starts by gathering his tools - not that he is going to need a lot. There is the white chalk, sharpened, and the pages and notes of the Folly's shields. Yet he can't help but double-check, go over his notes, clear the area for one final time, which earns him an irate glance from Molly as she passes through, and asking Thomas a handful of final question.

Noon approaches, and takes a deep breath, staring at the area at his feet. It's roughly three by three metres, in the centre of the atrium, right at where Thomas told him the shields keeping the Folly safe had been erected. If he stands close to the centre of the atrium, he can feel it around him. 

Newtonian magic is flashy, loud, and quick, like lightning and thunder at a quiet summer's evening, warmth making one lazy and content to watch the clouds overhead until the sound of approaching dangers awakens one. It lacks elegance - the solemn strength of weaving a strong spell in the sigils on the ground. It lacks quality - the endurance of wards lasting lifetimes and lifetimes. Moreover, it's gone in a flash, the effects rarely lingering except for the perversion of nature it leaves in his wake.

He knows such thoughts about other disciplines of magic are rarely ever helpful if he needs to focus on his craft. A glance at his watch reveals it to be close to twelve o'clock. He unfastens it, and then pockets it, trying to reach a state of calm. It's easier said than done because giddiness has taken hold, that he is in fact allowed to do something about the shields of the Folly. It's not helping, but he focuses his thought as his grandmother showed him, deep breath in, slow breath out. It's all going to come together. With one last glance at the paper, he stuffs it into his pocket, then steps forward into the centre.

It's going to be a strong ward, shielding the centre of what has become most precious to him, and yet there are other aspects of the marble around him with which he needs to work. There can be no place of doubt or uncertainty in his mind as he bends down and draws the first circle, in one perfect, smooth motion.

The circle - it's the easiest and the yet the hardest form, a simple geometric base from where every ward should start, representing the place to where the energy is drawn. At the moment, only encompassing him, protecting, what's his, but by the end this simple representation inside will surround the whole building, ensuring it's shield - no, proper ward - lasting against time.

With an exhale, he begins the second circle, the barrier, an outside source, and the chalk glides over the marble seamlessly, brushing against the magic already inherent in the building. It melts easily into the cracks the Newtonian magic has left, the shields, which rely on strength alone instead of intricacy and cleverness.

A smile begins to form on his face as the feeling for the magic around him grows. Energy is brimming in the stones around him, different impressions from their casters intermingling, obscuring what is lying beneath. He needs to navigate those to reach deeper, beneath the wards, reaches the bones of the building, timber and stones, old, but so young in their composition. Newtonian magic is fleeting, a barely-there explosion in the current of time, and he draws from ancient knowledge, one gifted to him by his grandmother, given to her by her father, his mother, all reaching back to distant pasts where even the Roman had not been thought off into existence.

That is where he starts to build.  
Before he had thought about what runes were needed to rearrange the naturally occurring energies, added to by the shields placed down by the Isaacs. He had thought about where those needed to be placed, carefully counteracting or strengthening what was there. As he begins to work, he feels the shift happening, ancient pathways rearranging themselves, new ways opening up, incurring on the ward he intends to create, so he works with them instead of around them like he intended to. 

His hands move, drawing runes, ancient symbols, his interpretations, the chalk running over marble, white on white, weaving an intricate net. 

He doesn't pause. 

He doesn't even stop, his gaze drawn to ancient times where the earth was young, and the fae were children, freely mingling with humans, whispering old stories from long ago. 

The wards around him, in place for a hundred years, shift, bending to the old ways, working with the nature and energy around instead of against in the flow of time, accepting their fate as minor disturbances in the flow of time. 

The east starts to cave first, the morning sun, the beginning, the melody of change on its lips, as it dances around him, a child's laugh echoing around. 

The south follows as the sun shines high above, summer hot and dry, parching his throat with a lazy wink, the promise of more on a young adult's face. 

The west marches along, a wind blowing in his face, a warning of darker days to come with sadness in its eyes, as the aged figure draws away. 

At last, there is winter, strong and imposing, the end before the beginning, cold and uncaring, a perfect mask as its gentle hands guide the souls along towards a new beginning. 

He weaves them together, directs the north to the south, the west to the east, interweaving their energies, the eternal flow of seasons and change, under the everlasting eye of the bright sun and the shining moon, creating a ward that will outlast anything that stands in its place. 

Finally, he draws the last ring, encompassing all he has laid out before. It's a snap that runs through him, awakening him from the ancient times and wonder. With an exhale he straightens up, and the piece of chalk slips from his hand. It falls to the floor, the sound loud in the atrium. 

Alex isn't even sure, he is ready to face what he has created. It's not going to look like what he has planned. Yet, he can't help the curiosity, the part of him that is interested in magical theory, the difficulties in creating wards compared to other disciplines. They need to be planned, executed, and often adjusted to their surroundings. If Miriam would have been here, she would have told him, that was true of every magical discipline, even potions. However, creating wards involves careful planning. And yet, that is something he has not done. Heart in his throat, he turns and looks at the pattern on the ground. 

The ward he has drawn is not what he has painted out beforehand in detail. In fact, nothing is there with which he might have managed the utter shitty patchwork the Folly magicians have conjured up years ago. This is- it's delicate and intricate, white lines on the marble still glowing in a blue light, brimming with energy. That is something he has never seen as well - a magic seal woven so tightly, the progress of sinking into the environment has not finished with its creation. It's an artwork, which he has never produced, has only ever seen once in his grandmother's house, their family home, her own ward, a work of true magic as she had called it. He has never thought he could do the same.

Alex hands are still shaking, and he reaches for his watch, only to realise he has given it to Thomas. With a shake of his head, he straightens. Molly appears next to him, silent, gaze focused on the ward, awe on her face as she peers at it. She offers him a sandwich and a glass of water. Only now he realises how thirsty and hungry he is. In one go he drains the water, then takes the sandwich with a murmured 'thank you'. 

He has started close to noon, sunlight streaming into the atrium. Now though the moon is illuminating the room, everything washing out in shades of grey, white and blue. Yes. he has known it would take a while, but he has never taken twelve hours to put up a ward. Then again, he has never put up a ward this complex, never wanted to protect this desperately. 

The magic seeps into the stone as the chalk dissipates, the lines remaining, and yes, if there is a ward, which can be called his masterpiece, it's this one. A chuckle nearly escapes him, his grandmother reminding him that hubris comes before the fall, but for the moment he finds himself unable to care, the sense of accomplishment too great. Instead, he walks the perimeter of the ward, one last glance thrown about, seeing how he has woven the different energies together.

Thomas is still there, which surprises Alexander. Somehow he has thought Thomas might have used the day more productively, either researching lessons plans or doing paperwork. As Alex steps closer, a smile begins to spread over his face. Though he is still there, Thomas has fallen asleep sitting on the stairs. A blanket is draped around his shoulders, the book in his hand precariously close to slipping from his grasp, and his expression is peaceful even as he is leaning against the bannister. Alex drops down next to him, eating his sandwich and watching the ward settle in 

Bone deep tiredness is already spreading through him, but for the moment he is content with what he made. The blue light starts to fade, even as the rest of chalk dust lingers in the air, and dance in the moonlight. 

Next to him, Thomas startles awake as his head slips, his hand tightening on the book, and he blinks, looking around with a frown until his eyes fall on Alex. 'Oh, there you are - have you finished?' Thomas' voice is rough from the nap, pitched low, and Alex wants to lean forward and kiss him senseless. 

He is still starving though, so instead, he nods, mouth full with Molly's delicious sandwich. 

'And-?' Thomas asks, voice returning to normal as he wakes. He brushes a loose streak of hair back. 

'It's strong. Still settling in fact. Maybe we could test it out in the morning,' Alex yawns. 'Your folks have no eye for tradition or working with what's there. Makes your shield spells rather ineffective. The amount of magic you have poured into these,' he makes a gesture encompassing the room, 'will barely last under a sustained assault in fifty years.' 

Thomas raises an eyebrow, 'And now it will?' 

'Of course, it fucking will,' Alex swallows the last bite of his sandwich, licking sauce of the corner of his mouth before yawning. Damnit, he is knackered. He blinks, rubbing over his eyes, then yawns yet again. 

'Well,' Thomas says as he gets up, blanket almost slipping off his shoulders. He extends his hand, skin pale in the moonlight and the blue glow of the ward, the gold on his ring finger catching their light. He is standing tall and proud, yet his hair soft, parts of it coming undone after a long day, curling gently into his forehead and over his ears. A boyish grin begins to spread over his face, playfulness seeping into his voice, 'Shall we?' 

Alex snorts, takes the offered hand even though he doesn't trust Thomas with pulling up his whole weight, 'If you want to show me your gratitude, maybe do so in the morning,' his bones creak as he stands, 'when I'm fucking awake, Trouble.' 

'I'm flexible,' Thomas answers, and he interlaces their hand, 'as long as you come to bed with me now.' He turns, taking the first step upwards, but Alex doesn't move, tugging at Thomas' hand. With a raised eyebrow, Thomas turns back, and Alex leans forward, catching his mouth in a kiss at the perfect height so for once he doesn't have to bend down. 

Thomas' delight is palpable in the kiss, and he brings one hand up, thumb brushing over Alex' face. They break apart, and Alex wants more, but instead, his body decides to try and dislocate his jaw with another yawn. He is almost ready to reach out, sling his arms around Thomas, and fall asleep there in then. Perhaps Thomas will allow him to rest his head on his shoulder, if only for a short while. Then again he wants to curl around Thomas, feeling warm and safe. So he leans forward, letting their lips brush and whispers, 'Love you.' 

As always something in Thomas softens, relaxing, and he responds, 'I love you, too.' 

He leans up, this time placing a kiss on Alex' forehead. 'But now, let's go to bed.' 

And Alex follows, heart light, and he can't help but repeat those words when they end up in Thomas' bedroom, moonlight streaming in and reflecting off the ring on his finger, sleep claiming him only moments after Thomas' quiet response.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe at some point I will work out the rules of this universe - at the moment however, this was just a quick distraction from other fics. 
> 
> Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed. Comments, kudos, and constructive critism welcome :)


End file.
